


gagging for dummies

by peet4paint



Series: the road to knotting [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Humor, M/M, PWP, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-05
Updated: 2012-02-05
Packaged: 2017-10-30 15:18:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peet4paint/pseuds/peet4paint
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles graduates.  Derek doesn't understand the meaning of 'graduation present.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	gagging for dummies

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, a simple knotting PWP has been turned into... not that.
> 
> This is written for river, moreso than usual, as she helped with some of my majorly ridiculous requests for assistance. Thank you so much, as always. Also, thanks for putting up with the lack of knotting in this verse.
> 
> There is a mini-challenge going on over at kink-bingo right now. I'm hoping to actually complete it this time. Kink: Sex toy being used for unintended purpose.
> 
> Warning: Don't try this at home.

They’ve tried it face to face, Stiles thrusting hard enough to almost knock Derek’s head into the headboard. They’ve tried it with Derek on top, Derek controlling everything, even telling Stiles when to come. They’ve tried it on their sides, bodies the reverse of how they lie at night on those few brief hours between falling into each other again.

But never once have they tried it the other way around, in all the months they’ve been dating.

Which begs the question of why it has to be tonight—the night Stiles graduates from Beacon Hills and leaves both it and everything associated with it behind—that Derek finally makes a move on taking Stiles’ cherry.

“You’re supposed to be giving me something I want for graduation,” Stiles says, waving his hand haphazardly at Derek. “That’s how it works. Someone attends high school—otherwise known as torture—for _four years_. And when those _four years_ are over, that same someone gets a shitton of presents from everyone they know.”

“I did get you a present, Stiles,” Derek says, gesturing down at himself. At his very naked self. Sporting a blood-red erection. Wrapped in an even redder bow.

“That,” Stiles says, waving again. “That is _ridiculous_. How would you think this was a good idea? Seriously, Derek.”

Derek shrinks in on himself a little. He doesn’t cover himself, but he stops flaunting himself so shamelessly. “Allison said—“

“Allison?” Stiles cuts him off. “Allison! You talked to Allison about our _sex life?_ ”

“You told me to stop asking your dad for advice about shopping for you. Who else was I supposed to go to?” Derek finally caves, tugs a pillow from behind his back to cover his dick. “And it wasn’t about sex,” he says, moodily.

“Oh, really,” Stiles says, pacing in front of the bed. “Well if it wasn’t about sex, then what was it about? Because I’m seriously confused here, Derek. This? Is not something Allison would tell you.”

“She said you wanted to try something new.” Derek’s starting to get a little pissed himself, Stiles can tell. “What the hell else was I supposed to think?”

“Oh my god,” Stiles says, eyes widening in shock. Then he collapses on the bed, chuckling a little. “That was what she said? That was all she said?” he asks, looking at Derek.

“Yes. She was too embarrassed to say anything else.” Derek looks frustrated, hands practically tearing through the pillow.

It’s so ridiculous, so Derek, that for a second Stiles doesn’t know what to do. Heck, for a second, he can’t do anything at all. Then he leans forward and steals Derek’s pillow.

“I wanted,” Stiles says, over Derek’s loud complaints, “to try a gag.”

That shuts Derek up tight as a drum.

“It’s just, after last time, when I had my fingers in your mouth, I wanted it to be like that always. I wanted—I want…. I don’t know, you wanna try it out?” He reaches into his backpack, digs around for a few seconds and then he’s pulling out a red ball-gag.

Derek stares at it for a few seconds, then he turns that stare on Stiles. Stiles has a second to think _uh oh_ before Derek’s pouncing on him, knocking him to the floor. Derek lands on top of him, trapping Stiles underneath his stupid, hulking body.

“Stiles,” Derek says, tugging the gag free from Stiles’ fingers. “Stiles, Stiles, Stiles. What am I going to do with you?” He holds the gag a little closer to his face. “What is this made of?”

“Uh, silicone?” Stiles says. “At least, I think it’s—“ His words are cut off when Derek hooks a finger in his mouth.

“Now tell me, Stiles, what were you really thinking about when you bought this?”

Stiles thinks about it. Stiles thinks about how much he loves sex with Derek. How he knows it would never be the same with anybody else because Derek let’s Stiles in all the way (and not just in his ass). How Derek just loses himself in the pleasure when they’re together.

And Stiles had wanted that. Not for selfish reasons (well mainly). Not for always. Just for right now, with his future up in the air and with Stiles unsure about everything, what he’s going to do with his life and what he’s going to have for supper. Everything, that is, other than Derek.

Derek pulls his finger back, spit smearing over the side of Stiles’ face. “Um,” Stiles says, when it’s apparent Derek’s waiting for something. He tries to think of a way to finish the sentence but it’s as difficult as coming up with where he wants to apply for a job.

Derek seems to not require any more, though. He just smirks down at Stiles and puts his finger exactly where it had been. “That’s what I thought.”

He looks at the gag again, the red ball distended out on one end. “You want me to use this on you,” Derek says, jerking it so it dances in the air, “shove it in and stop you up tight so none of your words can come out. Right?” He looks at Stiles, eyebrow raised.

Stiles just stares back for a second, then he’s nodding furiously head making a staccato against the wooden floor.

Derek’s smirk goes a little dirtier, edging into how he is when the wolf is riding him. “Sorry, but that’s not happening. I like hearing you fall apart.” He slips the finger out of Stiles mouth, catching it on his jaw instead.

“Then why…?” Stiles says, voice already hoarse.

“Not yet,” Derek says, shoving a thumb into the corner of his mouth. “I don’t want to hear anything out of you until you’re falling apart.”

Stiles whimpers and melts into the floor.

Then Derek’s weight is no longer over him. Stiles is confused for a second, but just like that, Derek’s back, leaning over him and tugging his stupid _maroon_ graduation robe over his head.

Underneath Stiles was _supposed_ to be wearing something nice. ‘Dressy’ according to Mrs. McCall. Instead Stiles decided to go au natural. 

“Why Stiles,” Derek says, voice gone chiding, “what a naughty boy you were today. What on earth were you thinking? What if there had been an earthquake?”

“Uh, I have a spare—“

“Did I tell you that you could talk?” Derek asks. He stares at Stiles a minute, maybe more, but when Stiles doesn’t say anything else he goes back into motion. “This is going to make it easier, not having to undress you. Maybe I won’t tan your hide for this after all.”

He grabs the gag again and something else. There’s a noise—a click or maybe a snap—and then Derek’s grabbing Stiles’ legs, pushing them open.

He runs a finger over Stiles’ hole. Stiles twitches. He can’t help it. They haven’t tried this yet, not this way, and he really wasn’t kidding about not wanting it. “Derek,” Stiles says, voice cracking in the middle.

“Don’t worry about your virtue,” Derek says. “The ribbon stays on.” He reaches down to his own erection, rubs a thumb over the bow.

But Stiles isn’t understanding. Stiles _can’t_ understand, mind racing too fast for anything to make sense, body caught somewhere between arousal and terror. “I—“

Derek sighs, closes his eyes. Then he looks at Stiles, and the look in his eyes, it’s the same look he had as when he gave Stiles the ring. “I do anything you don’t like? Say Klingon.”

And then the finger is back, rubbing over and over Stiles’ hole. Stiles opens his mouth to say… something, anything, not ‘Klingon’ (he thinks). 

But Derek’s finger doesn’t push in. It just keeps on with its slow tease rubbing and rubbing and rubbing until Stiles finds himself shoving into it, wanting more, wanting something inside.

They haven’t done this. They haven’t done any of this. They haven’t tried fingers or mouths, and they definitely haven’t tried cocks this way around. But Stiles has. At home, alone in his own bed, Stiles shoves a finger inside himself and still shouts a muffled ‘Derek’ into his pillow when he comes. He tries the black dildo, Derek’s second present to him, when he’s got more time. He likes it when he hasn’t seen Derek in a few days. Likes imagining that it’s Derek’s dick, normal except for the little ridges.

But together, Derek hasn’t even gotten a chance to see Stiles’ ass really. Every time he even gets close, Stiles closes himself up tight until Derek rolls away and just lets Stiles have his way with him again.

It’s strange how vulnerable it makes Stiles feel. How fast his heart’s beating, how hard, harder than when he’s pounding into Derek.

It’s even stranger how much Stiles likes it.

Derek’s finger pushes just a _little_ harder and Stiles pushes just a _little_ faster and suddenly Derek’s finger is _inside_ him. It feels—

Amazing.

Stiles wants to talk, needs to talk. He brings his wrist to his mouth and bites down, hard. It does nothing to halt his need to talk (or his stiffy).

Derek growls. And then the finger inside Stiles is moving, tilting and sliding and hitting places Stiles has never been able to hit. It’s insane. It’s fantastic.

Firebursts of color go off behind Stiles’ eyelids.

It goes on forever pleasure spiking through his system in shockwaves. He tries to jack himself enough times he can’t even count them anymore. Derek’s hand stops him every time.

And then, suddenly it stops. The fingers are leaving Stiles’ body. And it takes Stiles a second, but he _knows_ what that means. His jaw loosens, arm and mouth finally equally free. “Cylon!” he shouts. But that’s not right, is it, not quite right. “Wraith!”

“Stiles,” Derek says.

Stiles looks up at Derek. And he’s holding… not his cock. Not his cock at all. No, Derek’s holding the gag, red bulb glistening with lube. And—

Stiles’ body just gives out on him, collapsing into a puddle of pure _want_. His legs spread _wide_ like a cat in heat. “Now. Right now! So help me Derek Hale if you don’t put that thing in me _right the fuck now_ I will fuck up your _shit_.”

But apparently Stiles didn’t need to say that much, because before he’s even finished, Derek’s hand is on his ass, tilting him at exactly the right angle to shove the goddamn _ball gag_ into his hole. 

It’s insane. It’s wonderful. It hits him exactly there-there- _there_.

And the fireworks go off. And Handel’s Messiah sounds through his head. And a flock of doves explodes into the stratosphere. And he doesn’t know anything, at all.

Derek is gone for a bit, Stiles thinks, but he doesn’t really care enough to find out where he is. All Stiles is, for the moment, is feeling. His body hums to itself and he hums along with it, or tries to at least. It sounds a little too much like ‘The Rainbow Connection,’ for him to be perfectly comfortable with it, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.

Derek’s back again, and he’s got a washcloth with him. He wipes Stiles’ belly and thighs and ass, and then he leans down and looks into Stiles’ eyes. “So, how’d you like your graduation present?”

“What?” Stiles says. He feels something tickling at the back of his mind, that this should be important somehow. It will be, but tomorrow, not today. “Come here,” he says, instead, and tugs Derek on top of himself.

“Yeah, okay,” Derek says, and pulls Stiles into his arms.


End file.
